


Dirty Paws

by wantadonut



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fight Club - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:11:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wantadonut/pseuds/wantadonut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The suburbs of Dublin were surrounded by rumors, each one of them about a pub underneath the earth where water, sand and blood would get mixed and shouts turned into onomatopoeias of fists encountering strange skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Paws

The suburbs of Dublin were surrounded by rumors, each one of them about a pub underneath the earth where water, sand and blood would get mixed and shouts turned into onomatopoeias of fists encountering strange skin. Bets would roll around Syrian’s fingers, Irish sponsored foreigners, Gauls didn’t leave their kid, Africans would be cleaning teeth and nail and always going from one side to the other, looking after his clients, the lone Thracian watched everyone with a smile on his face.

Howth’s harbor was known for its ships full of “tourists” that hardly ever left the country. It was easy to know those who would go back home from the ones who would call Ireland their home from now on.

And it was also at the harbor where rushed conversations and tales of glory would make one’s eyes get full with hope of better days.

“I swear, _bruder_ , this is the perfect way to make some extra cash!” The sink was full of plates and the foam reached the man’s elbow. He didn’t stop cleaning the dishes even though he kept talking. He had a red leather earring in one of his ears that kept bouncing at each movement he made, just like his dreadlocks did. He had a tan on his face and his eyes were as black as licorice; a pair of thick eyebrows and a shiny piercing completed his look, “I heard a Syrian say he got 60 euros in one day!”

The once incessant noise of a hammer stopped, long enough to give space for a snort of disbelief, “Fucking Syrians, you know better than to trust them, Duro.”

The younger brother rolled his eyes without the other seeing, “Yes, neither can I trust Greeks, or French, Spanish or” a potatoe went flying towards Duro who was left with no other option but to receive it on his face, “Fuck you, Agron!”

Agron just laughed, now leaning against the kitchen’s door-stop. Agron was taller and stronger than his brother, but the hair and the tan are the same as Duro’s. He had green eyes and carried no remains from his old land. All he had was a scar above his heart, thick and red.

When the laughter died and Agron went back to cutting and tenderizing the meat, Duro started talking. “We won’t be able to afford the rent with what we get here, _bruder_. Trying will do us no harm.”

Agron had already heard about that place where men were paid to bleed, he even thought about going there, but not with Duro. His brother wouldn’t last long there and Agron would never ask him to keep going since Duro wouldn’t ever want to quit without Agron. They had made a promise to each other since leaving Germany and neither were ready to break it.

“One time, Duro,” When Duro cheered, Agron soon scolded. “I’m not promising anything! Now finish with the dishes so you can come help me with this shit.”  

 

* * *

 

 

Auctus was drinking a beer when Spartacus arrived at the bar. Both arena veterans hugged briefly in hello but then the Thracian soon noticed Auctus’ cold glass, “Where the hell did you get this? You’re not the only one here?”

The older one just laughed and pointed towards the back of the counter to the room of refrigerators. “The boy got me one. And by the way, does he ever have a day off? You’ll kill him with this slavery.”

“You look older by the day, Auctus. Looking after the pups all the freaking time. Let them grow up! Nasir has been here for months, he knows his limits.” Spartacus smiled again, petted his friend on the back and disappeared on the staircase that led to the basement.

Auctus sighed and resumed tapping on his cellphone at the same time as he appreciated his beer. Even though he was in his thirties he surely didn’t look so. He had a light skin and his hair was always disheveled. His brown eyes showed his wisdom, but his constant smirk would trick people into wonder if he was really mature.

Lost in his thoughts, he was taken by surprise by the plate of appetizers that appeared from air in front of him, but he soon set eyes upon Nasir and relaxed. “Already feeding me?”

The younger one laughed, pushing away some hair strings from his eyes. “You looked bored, waiting for the others. So at least you should eat something.”

“You’re too good for a Syrian,” Auctus said before eating a piece of bread.

“And you’re too ungrateful for a greek,” the answer came last than a second after and Nasir ran back to the refrigerator room, laughing like a maniac and fearing the fighter would make him train as a punishment.

It had been a while since Nasir had started working as a barman at the pub Ludus and with each passing day he was becoming part of this weird family made of fighters and pub workers. Auctus was the one who introduced him to the others and made him friends. The greek didn’t care about nationalities but spirits.

Even though Nasir was small and weak in comparison to the fighters, he often left his spot behind the counter to go to the basement. He was quick and could easily forecast blows; he even came to a draw in a fight with Varro, an experienced fighter whose biggest flaw was being too distracted.

But Nasir would rather stay behind the counter or assisting the fighters at the basement infirmary. He felt more useful while doing something he was sure he was great at. And sometimes it was easier  to keep a distance than to endure the jokes of the _Unos_ ; periodic fighters that appeared only once in three months to unload bad energies in fights.

These guys would always make fun of him, about his hair, his Syrian accessories that he never took off – like the wood earring on his left ear and the leather strings on his hair. When they overstepped and trying to force themselves to him, some of the main fighters would show up; Auctus, Spartacus, and sometimes even the gaul Crixus.  

Everyone was used to the _Unos_ and with the usual bidders and the foreign friends. That’s why when the German brothers walked through the door alone and unknown to anyone there everyone was left stunned.

Apparently fearless and unfazed, both men walked to the bar while in a cheerful conversation in german. The barman heard something similar to “beer” coming out of their lips, but he was not paying attention. He was looking at the corner of the counter where Spartacus, Auctus and Varro were sharing drinks. Nasir found Auctus’ eyes in a silent question; who were they?

Nasir woke from his thoughts when one of the men touched his shoulder. The problem was that at the same time that Nasir reacted in a surprised squeak, Auctus jumped from his seat. He twisted the man’s arm to their back and pushed the man’s head into the counter tile.

“Do not touch someone who didn’t give you any permission, stranger,” Auctus said while kept the man from moving. The other men in the pub cheered for a fight and raised their glasses in joy.

No one expected more, but then the other german reacted and surprised Auctus in a headlock. The greek had to free the other german in order to try and escape the other’s hold to his head. Varro was entering the fight when Spartacus yelled loud enough to silence the bar.

“Enough! If you want to fight, enlist and go downstairs. You, german! Let go of the poor man before he drops dead, he’s too old for this shit.” Spartacus seemed pleased with the night’s surprise, smiling when Auctus gave him the finger after being released from the headlock. Auctus went to the back of the counter to look for ice, swearing all the way there. “What names do you two go by so I can write your obituaries?”

The brothers looked at each other with similar smiles and offered their hands to Auctus, Spartacus and Varro.

Nasir watched as the taller and probably older waited to shake hands with Auctus before greeting the others, “I’m Agron and this is my brother. We came from the east of the Rhine river.”

Spartacus nodded with a smile, approving Agron’s gesture.

“The brother would like to make clear that he meant no harm to the barman. And my name is Duro,” the ones around the newbies laughed at the youngness still strong in Duro, who waved at Nasir. The barman rolled his eyes but waved back, accepting the apologies.

“Are you interested in enlisting? It’s been a while since I last saw the old Auctus get his ass kick so easily,” Spartacus loved teasing the greek about his age, more so after seeing Auctus double check the younger german.

“Ass kicked? C’mon you fucking Thracian, let’s go downstairs. I’ll show you who is too old for this shit.”

Neither Agron nor Duro had any time to answer them, because Varro started pushing Spartacus towards the stairs and, realizing a classic combat was about to begin, several clients followed them to the lower floor.

The brothers stayed put until Nasir came up behind them and rested a hand in each german shoulder, “If you intend to join Ludus, I recommend you go downstairs to watch. Auctus and Spartacus are the oldest here and, along the gaul Crixus, the best fighters.”

Duro looked at Agron with a playful smirk on his face. Agron wasted no time, he pulled his brother by the neck and met his forehead with his own in a sign of affection. Neither even blinked; Nasir was left stunned with the strength of the gesture. “Fuck the gauls, we’re going in.”

Nasir could hide his surprise when watching them run to the basement. Smiling to himself, the barman went to the door of the pub and changed the sign to “Closed”.

The top floor would be empty for a long while.

 

* * *

 

Nasir laughed loudly when Auctus pushed him away after having his forehead wound sterilized. The greek couldn’t stand being medicated and his proud made it impossible to accept any treatment with any kind of gratefulness.

Nasir was the one in charge of Ludus’ infirmary ward since he was probably the only one capable of doing something smoothly. Standing in the room were also Duro and Agron, followed by Varro and Hamilcar, with whom they had fought. Even though their clothes were bathed in blood, Duro and Agron didn’t stop laughing and more than once they would hit each other.

Varro would shake his head in disbelief when separating the brothers when they were being too inconsequent, but he understood how difficult it was to control the adrenaline running through your veins.

“Nasir, care to Duro’s wounds before that stupid brother of his make them worse,” Auctus said while leaving the infirmary, clapping Agron on the back to show he meant no offense.

The brothers looked at each other and Agron had to hide his smirk when he realized Duro was lost. It was incredible how the younger german could change age as he changes clothes; he could behave like a 10 year old boy and, suddenly, switch to a surly old man. Duro had ups and downs and was unpredictable. And right now he was acting like a teenager who didn’t understand a flirt.

 

* * *

 

At the top floor, Spartacus was cleaning his face and red hands when Crixus entered the bathroom.

“You think it wise to let those two into the fights?” The Gaul leaned his back into one of the bathroom cabinets door, looking at Spartacus with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t like germans.”

“You saw them fighting, Crixus. It is out of my hands.” Spartacus had a satisfied smile on his face while remembering the fight between the German brothers against Varro and Hamilcar.  
  
“They looked like two pups fighting for a bone. They don’t have a reason to fight for.”

Spartacus turned around to look at his friend, “Neither do you. Not anymore. The times of war are long gone.”   
  
Crixus relaxed his shoulders, shaking his head in disapproval, “They fight with no technic.”  
  
“They fight with honor. That’s all I ask of them.”   
  
Crixus laughed, raising his arms in defeat. “You say Auctus is the one getting old, but right now you’re the old man here, brother.”

Both man left the bathroom laughing and joined their fellow fighters who were the only ones who still remained at the bar. Suddenly the family had grown, but something about those two was off and Crixus wouldn’t stop until he found what. For the sake of Ludus. 


End file.
